The Darkness and the Rapture
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #27 Spock has trouble controlling his behavior, and his wife is sure he is running a fever. Just a virus? Or has their recent marriage affected his Vulcan hormones?
1. Chapter 1

Spock took in his primitive surroundings with something less than enthusiasm. A day of slogging back and forth through the icy drizzle of Trigalia, collecting data, had left the landing party tired, cold, and hungry. They needed warmth, they needed rest—but the crude accommodations offered to them by their grinning native host were not likely to provide much of either. The place was nothing more than a shack.

"Tight roof," proclaimed the little Trigalian with absurd pride, "solid wall. Wet stay out good." His pudgy four-fingered hand fluttered at the unwashed group of fellow guests ogling them from a dim corner. A universal translator slung from Captain Kirk's neck interpreted the throaty sounds. "Plenty good company. You like?"

Kirk signaled his crew with a nod and the five of them huddled in closer, their raingear dripping water over the warped, dirty floorboards. "Well," he said wryly, "if nothing else, here's another fine opportunity to experience the Trigalian culture firsthand."

Spock glanced at his wife, the medical representative of the group. Lauren was shivering. So, for that matter, was he—despite the warming suit he wore under his uniform. "Captain—" he began.

"Fine pads to sleep," the Trigalian shouted happily, "fine blankets, plenty good food to buy."

 _To buy?_ It was becoming quite apparent that hospitality was not a Trigalian virtue. No one had offered them food or drink all day.

"Captain," Spock repeated, "this is hardly suitable…"

Kirk's eyebrows climbed. "What do you suggest, Mister Spock? This is how they provide for honored guests."

"Some small concession to privacy," Spock said, "for the sake of the women. A simple curtain would suffice."

Kirk relayed the request. After a moment of gap-mouthed confusion, the Trigalian gave a knowing wink and chortled, "Curtain—yes. Ha, ha!"

Within a short time they sat on their grimy sleeping pads, wrapped in less-than-clean blankets behind a hastily strung barricade. The raingear hung over it formed a bizarre backdrop as they ate food from their packs and talked.

Anya Dovnoska of anthropology told a rambling, off-color story that was no doubt meant to be humorous. Spock thought it unseemly for a woman and was displeased when Lauren broke up laughing, and even the captain joined in.

Spock gave them both a severe look. He had lost his sense of tolerance and equanimity several chilly hours back in the mud of this forsaken planet. _Could it be that he was getting too soft for this sort of mission?_ His muscles ached and he was having some difficulty controlling the pain. The persistent sniggering from beyond the curtain grated on his nerves.

Though he felt like throwing down his food tray, he set it aside half-eaten and glowered at the captain. "Do you not hear them? Do you not realize what they are thinking?"

Kirk's eyes glimmered as if he were actually enjoying himself. "Of course, Spock. It's the gear dangling from that curtain of yours. They think we're having an orgy."

Dovnoska and Cabe Hudson of Xeno-politics chuckled. Lauren laughed out loud, and receiving a fierce look from Spock, tried to stop. And laughed even harder.

Spock failed to see the humor.

Sobering, Lauren gently said, "Spock. Let them think whatever they want. What harm will it do?"

"May I remind you," he replied stiffly, "that we are representatives of the Federation."

Sometime later, Spock lay in the darkness listening to the steady breathing of his companions. What little dinner he had managed to eat was not sitting well. The Starfleet provisions felt leaden in his stomach, but it was probably preferable to hunger—if it stayed down. Now the local fleas were starting to feast on his exposed skin. The pests only seemed interested in green blood. While he twitched and scratched, Lauren the other members of the landing party slept on. Turning, he gazed at his wife in the cramped space beside him. He did not understand why the captain had chosen Lauren for the away team. Initially he had been pleased, but her presence had quickly become a distraction. For that matter, why had Kirk placed himself in charge? It was against standard procedures, and Spock had reminded him of that fact only to be overruled—as usual. A captain belonged aboard ship. Was it the thought of adventure that lured Jim…or did he think Spock incapable of commanding a simple fact-finding mission? One thing was certain. Spock would not have settled for such shoddy accommodations.

Annoyed, he slipped into his rain gear, took a translator, and stepped outside. The drizzle had finally stopped. Clouds, driven by a bitter wind, blew raggedly across the night sky. Spock shook with a sudden chill and drew into his coat as he stood looking about the settlement. Light shone from a little tavern. A faint, curious sound of alien music carried to him on the wind. Trudging through the mud, he ventured inside.

"Ah, Starfleet friend!" beamed a squatty local perched behind the bar. "Come warm. Come buy drink. Money welcome."

Spock crossed to a crackling wood fire in the central hearth and held his hands over the flames until his sleeves steamed. Then he slipped off his coat and laid it on the hearthstones to warm. Except for one Trigalian customer snoring softly at a table, the place was empty.

Spock went over to the bar. "Andorian pondoh tea," he ordered, "black and hot."

"Pon-do-tee?" frowned the barkeep. "Not know this tee. Have plenty warm borag. Very good. You like."

Spock gave himself a mental shake. Trigalia was in the early stages of contact with the Federation. It was not logical to ask for a product that could be obtained only through interplanetary trade. "Very well," he said. "I will try some…borag."

The beverage was as golden as Saurian brandy and smelled agreeably spicy. Cautiously Spock took a sip and let its stinging warmth roll over his tongue. He swallowed and the full impact of the brew struck an instant later. Shaken, he set down the cup and left it there.

The barkeep grinned. "Good stuff. No? Drink plenty borag. Maybe friend like, too?" He aimed one of his four fingers at the door.

Spock turned and found Lauren standing near the entrance, watching him. The undercurrent of irritation that had been simmering inside him flared up and he crossed the room with a quick, angry stride.

Switching off the translator, he demanded in a low voice, "What are you doing here?"

She searched his face with a troubled expression. "Looking for you. Spock—"

"This is not the Enterprise," he cut in tersely, "nor is this Earth. It is not safe for you to be wandering alone in the night on a strange world."

"On Trigalia?" she said, astonished. "There's no crime here, remember? That's one of the reasons we're studying it."

He did not need anyone to remind him of the mission's purpose. It seemed yet another allusion to his less than perfect memory since the fal-tor-pan ritual on Vulcan, and he unleashed a lecture. "It is never safe to make assumptions, no matter what you may have heard about this or any other planet. If you cannot follow simple landing party procedures, I will recommend to the captain that you not be included on any future away teams."

"Yes, sir!" Lauren bristled. "But may I point out that _you_ were also—as you put it—'wandering around alone on a strange world'."

"I am Vulcan," he reasoned.

From her face, it was obvious that she failed to grasp the important difference between them. Turning on her heel, she strode out of the bar.

Spock stood staring after her for a long moment, his heart pumping hard, his thoughts in turmoil. He had not meant to upset Lauren. He did not understand the impulse that had driven him to treat her so harshly. He was heading outside, one hand on the door latch, when the bartender cried out to him. Pausing, Spock switched on the translator.

"No you go!" the Trigalian repeated, arms flailing. "Pay up! Pay up borag, now!"

Spock fumbled in his pocket for a silver Trigalian glit, then went over and slapped it on the bar before leaving the establishment. At the frigid bite of the wind he hesitated, realizing that he had left his raincoat on the hearth. Steeling himself, he went on. The thick mud pulled at his boots as he searched the darkened streets. Lauren was still out here somewhere—he could sense her nearness through their bond, could sense the pain his thoughtless words had inflicted.

Rounding a dim corner, he glanced inside a lean-to and found Lauren standing in the shelter amid some gardening implements. Spock stepped inside, and the rude walls provided some relief from the wind.

She would not look at him. Sniffling, she wiped a coat sleeve over his face and struggled to control her tears. "Well, Commander," she said in a thick voice, "it seems I'm out 'wandering around' again. Am I up for insubordination?"

As Spock moved nearer, the starlight flooding in from the doorway struck her face, giving it an ethereal beauty. "I should not have spoken so bluntly," he apologized. "I was only concerned for your safety."

"You've been concerned about my safety before, but you never acted like that. I was so happy when the captain chose me for this assignment. I actually thought it would be nice working with you."

"I was also pleased," he said.

She turned and looked at him, the blueness of her eyes made purple by the shadows. "What's wrong, then? You've been behaving strangely."

The accusation disturbed him. _Had the others noticed, as well?_ He was growing more and more aware of that troubling "strangeness" in himself.

Lauren put her hand on his face. It felt very cold, and he shivered as she said, "Spock, I don't understand what's happening."

He shivered again, with a sudden hot chill that made him want to seize hold of his wife and never let her go. His heart ached with love for her fragile humanness. His throat tightened at the thought of watching her grow old and die, and finding himself thrust back into a solitary existence. "Never leave me," he said, and kissed her.

The sweetness of her mouth stirred him to deeper passion, and he crushed her close. Lauren sucked in her breath, surprised, but she did not resist. At this point Spock saw only one possible outcome. Not landing party procedure, but somehow at this moment even the Prime Directive paled in comparison to the more urgent directive of his own needs.

oooo

Lauren was more puzzled than ever. The rushed, furtive encounter in the tool shed was scarcely over when Spock drew back from her and retreated behind his Vulcan mask. It was almost as it he were angry. _At her? At himself?_ It had never happened like this before. Intimate encounters had fit naturally into their lives, with no sense of awkwardness afterward.

Spock escorted her back to the landing party before going his own way—supposedly to fetch his coat from the tavern, but he was gone a long while. Lauren was on the verge of waking the captain when Spock finally returned and settled onto the sleeping mat beside her, eyes closed. She touched his hand and had the distinctly painful feeling that he wanted to pull away. But he didn't. And as she lay there, still touching him, she remembered how unusually hot his body had felt in the shed. Now she was almost certain. He was running a fever.

Her first instinct as a doctor was to turn on a light, grab her medscanner and examine him immediately, but she was also his wife and knew how he disliked that sort of fussing. They had kissed in the shed. What if he was infectious? That could put her in imminent danger. Worried, she drew closer to him and whispered, "You're sick, aren't you?"

He stiffened and pulled away as if she had insulted him. "There is nothing wrong with me," he whispered back, "that I cannot deal with in my own way."

"Then," she pressed, "there _is_ something wrong."

"It is not contagious," he said and turned his back toward her.

oooo

The landing party rose at dawn. Almost before Lauren could rub the sleep from her eyes, Spock was gone. After a brief meal, she and the remaining crewmembers went out into the village. Dovnoska joined up with Hudson and began interviewing the ever-cooperative locals. The captain went off by himself, leaving Lauren in charge of collecting medical data. In the past she had found the whole process of planetary investigation challenging and exciting, but today her mind was elsewhere.

It was past noon when Spock reappeared at the captain's side, tricorder in hand. Lauren briefly considered telling Kirk about the fever, but Spock seemed to be managing well enough. Just a few more hours and she would get the stubborn Vulcan into sickbay. Failing that, she would at least get him to take a rest.

By late afternoon their work was finished and their Trigalian host wandered off for the customary siesta. The landing party talked over their preliminary findings as they gathered their gear in the warm sunshine. Obviously there was poverty here, and rampant ignorance, but the absence of crime in an environment of complete anarchy remained a mystery. Everyone agreed—except for Spock, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet on the subject.

The captain's eyes gleamed with humor as he turned to his first officer. "Well, Spock, what do you make of it? Even your peaceable Vulcan society is established on the solid foundation of government."

Lauren prepared for one of her husband's pithy comebacks; she could think of a couple of good ones, herself. But Spock looked disinterested and even a bit annoyed, as if he would rather not have been bothered.

Rousing himself, he said, "Why ask my opinion? _You_ are in charge here. Surely you can reach your own conclusions regarding this miserable, flea-ridden planet."

Lauren dropped her equipment pack. The entire group went silent.

Kirk stared at the Vulcan, his expression slowly hardening into the look of command. "Mister Spock, we will discuss this later…"

oooo

Spock exited the turbolift in the officers' section and walked beside Lauren to their quarters. With each step he could feel his concentration deteriorating, his mental and physical control slipping away.

Once inside the cabin, Lauren pulled out her medscanner and approached him, her face determined. "Alright, you don't want to go to sickbay. I respect that, but you _have_ to let me run a diagnostic scan. I've already been remiss in my duty as a medical officer. There's always a chance that you picked up something on Trigalia. Maybe from those fleabites."

Spock shook his head. "You know as well as I—the transporter net would have registered the presence of any alien microorganism."

Lauren gave him a probing look. "Spock, why are you resisting me on this?"

He sighed. "Very well, then. Go ahead if you must." While the scanner hummed in his wife's hand, he worked at regulating his physiology. She was standing very near. The floral scent of her perfume seemed unusually intense and provocative.

The humming stopped. Lauren studied the scanner readings and frowned. "All your bodily systems are registering slightly above upper norm. You _are_ running a moderate fever…but I don't detect any sign of infection."

"Environmental stress," Spock said, "can sometimes have such an effect." Distancing himself from her, he began to unpack. "I think my warming suit was not functioning properly."

"You should have said something." Coming up beside him, she took his gear out of his hands. "I'll take care of this. Go get a shower and lie down."

"There is no need for bed rest," he insisted.

"I believe there is," she said firmly. "Now I know you don't want me to call in Doctor McCoy…"

Spock sighed a second time and went into the shower. He hoped Lauren would be gone by the time he finished, but when he came out she was waiting to see him into bed. He lay down to appease her, but stayed only until she left the cabin. There was work to be done. Rising, he put on a robe and downloaded his Trigalian data to the science department, making provisions for additional research and analysis. It was all he could do to keep his thoughts on the simple, routine procedures. As soon as he finished, he returned to bed.

He could no longer ignore what was happening to him. Over the years he had experienced slight flare-ups of this kind, but they had never been very troublesome. Surely this would also go away. In the name of everything he held precious, he _had_ to believe.

As he lay resting, his fevered mind wandered back to the dark tool shed on Trigalia. He had lapsed badly there. He had let the demands of his body overwhelm all sense of proper behavior. And what if Lauren had refused him? Would he have been able to stop? He should have found the memory of that encounter appalling. Instead, he was stirred by it. Cursing aloud, he closed his eyes. With all his remaining strength he worked to center himself in rudimentary Vulcan discipline, and achieved a reassuring degree of success. For a time he was able to sleep.

An attack of chills awakened him. Rising, he threw on his robe and paced, trying to escape the relentless surges of agitation. Moving helped ease the discomfort and calm him. The shaking had almost entirely subsided when the entry chime sounded.

Spock stopped and stared at his cabin door. He did not want to see anyone when his control was this uncertain, but refusing to respond would only arouse more suspicion. Arranging his robe, he said, "Come."

The captain entered and did a little double take. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

Spock repressed a chill and kept silent. As he had hoped, Kirk went on.

"Lauren told me you were a little under the weather." He gave a tight smile. "After that snappy remark you made down there, I figured maybe you were hiding out."

Spock was confused. "Remark, Captain?"

Kirk gave him a skeptical look. "Oh, come on, Spock. You're not going to get off the hook that easily. What you said was completely inappropriate."

With a rising sense of alarm, Spock searched his mind. He did not know what the captain was talking about, but it would hardly be wise to admit that. Finally he said, "Of course, Captain. Inappropriate. You are right."

Kirk studied him through narrowed eyes. "Is something the matter—I mean, aside from a little fever?"

Spock's thin thread of control stretched tight. Sudden anger boiled up, and he found himself saying, "Why does everyone keep questioning me? There is nothing wrong—I only want to be left alone!"

A hush fell over the cabin. Kirk stared at him, then backed off with a pained, bewildered expression. "Sure, Spock…alright. I'll leave."

Spock fought to regain command of his rioting emotions. It was becoming more and more difficult to maintain even a semblance of control. If it should worsen…

He watched the captain turn for the door, and said, "Jim—"

Kirk swung around, his face open and trusting.

Spock recalled that wrenching, shameful occasion years ago when he was forced to reveal personal difficulties of this nature to his friend. It was no easier now. He loathed his Vulcan body for the way it was betraying him, betraying Lauren and their entire future together after only three months of marriage. For the first time in his life, he wished he were entirely human.

"Captain," he began again, but his throat tightened and he felt in imminent danger of breaking down completely. He simply could not say it. "I will rest now," he somehow spoke. Retreating to the bed area, he struggled to hold his tears in check until he heard Kirk leave. But then they overtook him.

oooo

Lauren had not meant to be away from the cabin so long, but she had lingered in the medical department to read up on the causes and effects of fever in Vulcans. It was nearly 1800 hours, ship's time, when she let herself into the first officer's quarters and checked on Spock. She was relieved to find him resting quietly in bed, and did not disturb him. In truth, she was glad that she did not have to deal with him just now. His increasingly erratic behavior was making her nervous. On her way here she had met Kirk in the corridor, and he claimed that Spock had almost shouted at him.

She showered and dressed in casual clothes. Ordering a sandwich from the cabin dispenser, she ate at the computer while going over the backlog of messages. She was viewing a com from her mother when she heard a noise and looked up.

Spock stood just outside the bed alcove, bracing himself a room barrier with one hand. He had put on some clothes, but his face looked flushed and his eyes burned with a fire that she found strangely stimulating. _Now why would she be thinking of sex at a time like this?_ Worried that his fever had worsened, she grabbed her medscanner and headed toward him, but he gestured abruptly with his arm.

"Get that thing away from me," he snapped.

She stopped in her tracks, too stunned for the moment to do anything but return his stare.

"Why do you have on that revealing dress?" he demanded.

It was the last thing she had expected to hear. She glanced down at the Denebian skycloth she was wearing. Her taste was quite conservative—by no stretch of the imagination could such a dress be considered too immodest for a husband's eyes. "I…thought you liked it," she said, her heart slamming. She knew for a fact that he _did_ like it. Why was he acting as if he didn't?

Strange emanations were coming at her through their bond, but they had been joined such a short time. Was she reading him or reading her own emotions? Now, her continuing research on Vulcan plakir-fee led her to a deeply troubling thought. _Could Spock be suffering a relapse? Was such a thing even possible?_

In its initial stage, plakir-fee attacked the brain. True, Spock's body had been rejuvenated on Genesis, but what did anyone really know about that process? Spock had been poked and probed by the best medical minds on Vulcan, and in Starfleet, and they all agreed that genetically his present body was identical to the one that had died. Even the blood Lauren used for her research still contained traces of antibodies from the disease that nearly killed him. Had some undetected element of plakir-fee also been left behind?

When he spoke again, it was with a deliberate gentleness that seemed to cost him a great deal. "Lauren… _aisha_ …I must ask you to leave the cabin. I need to be…by myself."

The words tore at her heart. "You need to be in sickbay."

"No," he said emphatically. "You must do as I say. You must go."

His eyes flamed hotter and he was shaking with chills. Lauren stood rooted to the spot, the doctor in her struggling against a very unprofessional fear. Barely pulling herself together, she turned and reached for the intercom. In a flash her arm was in his viselike grip. She gasped.

With tears in his eyes, he released her. " _Leave_ ," he demanded, his voice breaking. "Don't you hear me? _Get the hell out of here!"_

oooo

Spock watched the door close behind his wife. Bending over, he clutched the edge of the desktop and fought for self-mastery. His body trembled; he forced it to be still. But once more the shuddering surged up beyond his ability to control, and he cried out in frustration. _He was losing Lauren. He was losing himself._ _He could not let her see him descend into an animal. He could not inflict himself on her in this state._

With a fierce effort he sat down at the computer, where he voided Lauren's cabin clearance and double-locked the door. That would keep her out. But when his survival instinct became fully engaged, he knew he would do anything to reach her.

oooo

Still dressed in Denebian skycloth, Lauren tore through the Enterprise looking for Doctor McCoy. Though her garb attracted stares, she did not want to use the intercom system. She did not want to risk anyone overhearing the call, and she was not sure her voice was even steady enough to function. She tried McCoy's quarters, sickbay, and the officer's mess. Someone had seen him on the observation deck, and there he was, off by himself, gazing at the stars beyond the wide steelglass windows.

He heard her coming and turned around. His eyes widened. "Laurie," he smiled, but one good look at her face, and his smile faded. "Lord, woman, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's Spock," she blurted. "Something's wrong with him—you have to come. I…I think he's going insane." She was acutely aware that the abrupt accusation made _her_ sound crazy. Maybe she was. At this point she was no longer sure of anything.

McCoy grasped her by the shoulders. "Whoa now, hold on, calm down a little." Guiding her to a couch, he sat her down beside him. "Now, what's this all about?"

Lauren quickly recounted the tale of Spock's unpredictable behavior and her fear that he was suffering a relapse. "He won't let me near enough to examine him. In fact, he threw me out. I'm sorry, I know I'm not handling this very well, but you've got to believe me."

She knew that McCoy respected her as a doctor. She could tell by the solicitous look on his face that he was taking her seriously. But she was not prepared for his embarrassing question.

"Has he displayed any…sexual behavior…that you'd call…unusual?"

She had deliberately left that part out. "Yes," she now admitted with a blush. "Why?"

He rose immediately and they headed for Spock's quarters. When the door no longer opened at Lauren's touch, fresh fear tingled down her spine. "Now he's locked me out!" Engaging the entry speaker, she said, "Spock, open the door!"

An officer passed by, eyeing them. Lauren and McCoy did their best to look casual, as if appearances still mattered at this point. Then McCoy met Lauren's eyes and his jaw set. Pressing the speaker button, he said, "Spock, it's Doctor McCoy. Now, I don't know what's going on here, but unless you open this door right now, I will call Security and have them _tear_ it down."

The silence stretched. Suddenly Spock's voice came over the speaker. "Hold on," he said, sounding more than a little annoyed.

A moment later the door hissed open, revealing an interior as dusky and hot as a Vulcan cave. Spock hung back in the shadows, poised like some flesh-eating night predator about to attack. His eyes bored into Lauren, and she felt as if her heart were tearing out of her chest.

"I'm coming in," McCoy said and took a step.

oooo

Spock had known this moment of truth was coming, and the portion of him that still clung to rationality even welcomed it. He was tiring of the constant struggle to maintain control. Now that McCoy was here, impenetrable walls and force fields would replace the disintegrating chains of self-discipline. Soon he could let himself sink into complete madness, knowing Lauren and his shipmates would be safe.

The door closed, shutting off his view of Lauren. He felt as if he were on fire. Tearing off his shirt, he threw it to the floor as he walked over to the unmade bed and collapsed on it. He heard McCoy following him, and curled away from the doctor's intrusive presence.

Abruptly the cabin lights brightened.

Spock threw his arm over his face. "Turn it off! It bothers my eyes."

"Sorry," McCoy said in a careful tone. "I have to see what I'm doing here."

A medscanner hummed over Spock's prone form. He grit his teeth. "Save yourself the trouble, Doctor. I already know what is the matter."

"This will only take a moment," McCoy said.

The humming stopped. Certain of what the readings had revealed, Spock burned with shame.

"So…" Pain and compassion mingled in McCoy's voice. "It's happened."

Spock saw no reason to acknowledge what they both already knew.

"Spock, is this the first time since—"

Spock broke in. "Over the years…there have been…minor difficulties."

"Is this what you would consider a 'minor difficulty'?"

Breathing heavily now, Spock rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

"Spock, you're scaring Lauren half to death."

"Don't you think I know that?" he flared.

McCoy hesitated. "Correct me if I'm wrong…but Lauren _is_ your wife. Shouldn't she be in here, helping you through this?"

Spock lunged partway up and confronted McCoy. Liquid fire coursed through his veins, just knowing that his bondmate was as near as the corridor. He was falling deeper into the blood fever called plak-tow. It would have taken very little stimulus for him to drag Lauren into the cabin. He had almost reached the point where he would see her as nothing more than an object of crude physical satisfaction. He did not even want to consider what might lie beyond that point. "The brig will hold me. Doctor, you must put me away—for her sake, for the sake of everyone aboard this ship."

McCoy touched him, fingers cold as ice on the fevered skin of his shoulder. "Spock. You're asking me to let you die."

Spock slumped back on the bed and shuddered in agony. "You cannot let her know. You cannot let her come to me—like _this._ You know what I would do to her. Surely you remember Ensign Weller."

"That wasn't your fault!" McCoy fairly shouted. "The Symbiant forced you—forced Jim and me, too. C'mon man, you're not thinking rationally."

"My point exactly," Spock countered tiredly. "I _am_ no longer rational. Doctor, I am pleading with you. Do not let her know."

McCoy shook his head. "Then what the hell do you expect me to tell her?"

"You are human," Spock said. "Lie. Tell her anything, but put me away. There is little time left. Lock me away now."

oooo

Lauren jumped at McCoy as he exited the cabin. The doctor looked as if he had just taken a tour of hell. "What did you find out? Did you get a good look at him?"

"Yes," McCoy said quietly, "I did a scan."

"And?"

McCoy slowly walked to the turbolift. "It's not plakir-fee."

The news did little to relieve Lauren's worry. The grim set of McCoy's face made it abundantly clear that Spock's condition was serious. "What then?" she demanded. "Tell me what's wrong."

The lift doors opened. "In here," McCoy said, and she followed.

"Doctor," she pressed.

McCoy faced her. Gently taking hold of her hands, he said, "Laurie, Spock is…your husband is…experiencing a state of mental and physical crisis peculiar to Vulcan males. It's…perfectly natural. Unfortunately, it is also quite dangerous."

Blood rushed in Lauren's ears. She could barely hear herself think, but nevertheless, the thoughts moved insidiously. "Dangerous. To him…or to me?"

"To both of you."

Looking aside, she desperately searched along the bond connecting her to her husband. It seemed she could feel him wanting her, resisting her, blocking her with a stubborn prideful strength that was fast failing. "The pon farr. He…thought it wouldn't happen. Not like _this."_

McCoy nodded. "I wanted to give you a little chance to think things through before I tell the captain."

"Jim?" Lauren fought for composure. "Does he have to know?"

McCoy looked as if he was not happy with the idea, either. "Spock is the executive officer aboard this vessel. Yes, Laurie, I'm sorry. The captain has to know."

oooo

For privacy's sake the windows of Doctor McCoy's office had been opaqued, but even so, Lauren found the briefing acutely embarrassing. Sitting there in clingy skycloth was bad enough, but this "case" was a personal matter between her and her husband. She belonged with Spock, not here. But McCoy insisted they first air the whole business in front of the captain.

Kirk took the news very quietly. Frowning, he sat back in his chair. McCoy scarcely gave him a glance and went on talking as if Kirk was not present. Even in her stressed state, Lauren could not help but notice McCoy's behavior, but she had no energy to waste wondering about the strain between those two.

At last Kirk leaned forward and said, "Are you sure?"

McCoy eyed him coldly. "Think I would have called you in here if I wasn't? As captain, you have a need to know."

Kirk's temper flared. "As his _friend_ I have a need to know!" With a visible effort he brought himself back under control. "How bad is it?"

"It's the real thing—worse even than the first Time."

"I don't understand," Kirk said. "The night before the wedding he told me he'd never been bothered by it since—" He stopped short and glanced at Lauren.

"I know about T'Pring." Rising, she began to pace. "It's been years and years. Spock thought it would never happen again."

"It must have been the marriage," McCoy conjectured, "and the bonding process that followed. All that must have triggered some hormonal response—it was long overdue."

Lauren stood still and forced her voice steady. "What he's experiencing is a natural process. I'm his bondmate, so there shouldn't be any problem."

McCoy spread his hands on his desktop and looked down at them. "Maybe. But right now he doesn't want you there. He's made that abundantly clear—to both of us."

"I don't care what he says!"

McCoy's eyes rose up and met hers. "Laurie, I'm not sure you understand. I meant it when I told you this is dangerous. Why, in the state he's in, with his Vulcan strength—" His voice faltered. "Back there…in the cabin…he mentioned Reesa Weller."

 _"Weller!"_ Oh, now she was good and angry. "Just the sort of thing he'd bring up. Have you forgotten? He could have killed me then, too. But he didn't…because his feelings for me overpowered the Symbiant's demands. Doctor, I've dealt with Spock in dangerous states before. I'm going to him. Right now."

"Doctor Fielding," Kirk said in the tone of command.

McCoy shot him an ungrateful glance before turning his attention back on Lauren. "I'm not going to put this delicately. If Spock's condition continues to deteriorate, he will not respond to any kind of reason. At the very least, he will rape you and he will hurt you. Guaranteed."

Lauren swallowed hard. Yes, she had enough sense to be afraid, but she dared not let it stop her. "Without me he'll die. How can I let that happen? How could I go on living?"

McCoy rose up and confronted her. "I want Spock to live just as much as you do. But do you really understand what it'll take to try and save him? Not minutes, not hours. I'm talking about days, Laurie—and even then there's no guarantee it will work. After all, you're not Vulcan. You're not even half Vulcan."

"Neither is Spock's mother," she shot back, "and the last I saw of Amanda and Sarek, they seemed to be doing nicely."

McCoy sighed. "You've got me there. Alright, I suppose it's your decision."

"It always was," Lauren said quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

Lauren's stomach knotted as she approached her cabin with Kirk and McCoy. To ensure their privacy, the captain had ordered the corridor temporarily cleared.

"We'll have to remain in communication," Kirk said as they walked. "Contact me at least once every four hours. If I don't hear from you, I'll call in. If you don't respond, I'll have Security here in a minute."

Lauren stopped at the cabin and faced him. "Captain, this isn't a Starfleet mission. I can't guarantee that I'll be able to keep to any schedule. What we'll need is privacy, not someone shouting into the intercom, or a hoard of Security personnel barging through the door."

Kirk had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Point taken—but if I don't hear from you within the next _twelve_ hours…"

"The captain's right," McCoy said. "There has to be a time limit."

Lauren saw that she would have to compromise. "Okay then, twelve hours." Her adrenaline surging, she tried the door. _Of course. Still locked._

Kirk stepped up to the speaker. "Spock, this is the captain. Open up."

A moment of silence, then the Vulcan's voice grated, "Keep her the hell away!"

Lauren's face flushed. _Who in blazes did he think he was?_ Feeling as if she might take the door down by herself, she exploded, "What's the matter—don't you have the guts to face me? Open it, damn you! Let me the hell in!"

Kirk and McCoy stared at her with raised eyebrows.

Then the door slid open.

"Oh my God," McCoy said under his breath.

Spock was not in sight, but the evidence of his unbalanced state was everywhere. He had wreaked the place. With dismay Lauren looked upon the dim, chaotic scene—at the overturned furniture and personal items strewn over the floor. Spock had somehow scrawled large Vulcan runes over a wall visible from the doorway. She did not know what they meant. She was not at all sure if she wanted to know.

McCoy rose from his shock. "Laurie, no. He's too far gone."

The doctor's words were all the impetus she needed. Ignoring him, she stepped inside.

"Laurie—" McCoy objected, and followed after her. There was a flash of motion. His voice choked off as a steely pair of hands closed over his throat and slammed him against a wall.

Kirk moved in, poised for a fight—as if he would stand any chance against a Vulcan in plak-tow. Someone might get killed, and by some wifely instinct Lauren knew she was the only one who could prevent it. Her outward show of calm belied the sick thudding of her heart.

Very quietly she said, "Jim, stay back. Spock won't harm the doctor if he leaves—if you both leave _right now."_

Kirk stopped where he was. McCoy's eyes bulged as he pulled at Spock's wrists, struggling to relieve the deadly pressure on his throat.

Lauren looked at her husband with renewed anger. It was not entirely logical, and had he been in his right mind, he would have reminded her of that fact. But he was not in his right mind. He had fought and lost the battle for rationality, he had gone away and left her, never once confiding that he even had a problem. She was far too furious now to let him die.

Spock was naked to the waist. Carefully approaching from the side, she touched his back. His hands stayed at McCoy's throat, rock-hard muscles trembling with primitive intensity. His eyes remained locked on the intruder.

Lauren slid her hand over his back and caressed his burning skin. "Spock," she urged. " _Aisha."_ She could feel the pull of their bond working on her. "Let him go, Spock. Let them go so we can be alone."

Gradually his grip loosened and his hands dropped, but the look on his face remained murderous. McCoy backed to the door, holding his throat.

"I'll be alright," Lauren said, wanting them out of there. Spock would be hard enough to handle without these kinds of complications. "It's your presence that's provoking him, don't you see? You're males—rivals. You have to get out."

Neither Kirk nor McCoy seemed convinced. In fact, they both looked as if they were consigning her to death. But this time the ultimate choice was not theirs to make. Withdrawing slowly, they left her to the dark, uncertain world of pon farr.

oooo

The cabin door slid shut. And locked.

A faint light flickered from Spock's attunement lamp.

Slowly he turned around and looked at Lauren, and in the interest of self-preservation she backed a step. It was hard to believe this was the same man she had married in a calm, orderly ritual at the Vulcan embassy in San Francisco. He scarcely resembled the caring lover with whom she had later shared a week of bonding at the seashore. This face was contorted with lust.

Icy fear stole over her and she would have run, but her legs refused to move. Then…once again…a primal stirring of excitement set itself against the chill. She drew a deep breath. With slow, cautious steps she moved _toward_ him…and reached out.

Spock thrust her away with a force that knocked her to the floor.

"So," he declared, "you do not think I have courage."

The words took Lauren by surprise. She had not expected speech. Perhaps he was not as far gone as she had thought. Rising up on her elbow, she glared at him. "That remains to be seen, doesn't it? You know what you have to do. I'm here now. What are you waiting for?"

He took a step toward her. "There is only one thing I will do. Throw you out!"

She lunged to her feet, eyes blazing. " _Damn_ your Vulcan pride!"

"It is not a matter of pride," he said.

"Is that what you've told yourself?" She stood toe to toe and challenged him. "Go ahead, put your hands on me— _try_ to throw me out. Put your hands on me and see what happens."

His lips drew back from his teeth. His hands rose but stopped, tremoring, just short of contact. Reaching out, Lauren gripped them and he jerked as if struck by a jolt of electricity. With a twist of his wrists, he caught hold of her arms. Pinning them behind her, he drew her hard against him. The heat of his body was like a fire burning out of control.

"I'm not going to let you die," she told him, eye to eye, but she was no longer sure if he could hear anything beyond his body's demands.

She felt the dangerous snap of something deep in their bond letting go. For an instant she wondered if _she_ had lost her mind, giving herself over to a Vulcan in plak-tow. Then he saw to it that she no longer had time even to wonder.

oooo

Some time later Lauren awoke and opened her eyes. She lay sprawled on Spock's bed— _their_ bed—every inch of her aching. _Where was he? Where the hell_ _was_ _he?_ Just now she felt quite capable of killing him herself, if the pon farr didn't.

She was afraid to move. Afraid to do anything that might alert him, remind him that she was still here—and that, no doubt, he still wanted her. It irked her to realize that she was wanting him, too. Wanting him with a dark passion that seemed only to increase with the passing of each hour. She should have known he would infect her with his drives. It was probably the only way any woman—human or Vulcan—would put up with this sort of treatment.

With a start she remembered her arrangement with Captain Kirk. Careful of her wrenched muscles, she turned over and reached for the bedside intercom. She heard footsteps. A hot hand clamped over her wrist and yanked her back, flat on the bed. Spock sat down next to her and held her arms firmly in place.

Anger flared in his dark eyes. "Who were you calling?"

"The captain. He—"

His grip tightened until it seemed her bones would be crushed. His eyes narrowed.

"Let go of me!" she demanded.

He slapped her with a strength that left her ears ringing. Tears welled. She felt a tickling in her nose and tasted blood in the back of her throat. He sank his fingers into the hair he had always loved and twisted it until she winced.

"You are not his woman!" he growled. "You are mine, do you understand?"

"And _I'm_ not T'Pring!" she flared back. "Do _you_ understand that? I have no interest in any man but you. Why else would I be here?"

To her relief, he released his hold on her. She sat up and blood ran from her nose. Leaving the bed, she rushed into the bathroom and locked it. Splashing cold water on her face, she stared numbly at the bedraggled image in the mirror. She pinched her nose shut until the bleeding subsided, then went into the shower.

Over the rush of the water she heard a sound like the stressing of pneumatics and metal. A moment later the shower door flung open and Spock dragged her, dripping wet, from the stall. Pushing her to the floor, he savaged her.

oooo

He had been gone for some time when Lauren moved, gingerly testing her body, cursing him with each new stab of pain. This time he had invested some extra energy, no doubt convinced that she had lied to him about Kirk. He could have looked into her mind and found the truth—but no, it was only the body and its base needs that occupied him now. Hour by hour she could feel his black urges seeping through the bond, could sense her own gradual descent toward the madness that already consumed her husband.

 _But was it really madness? Or was it a maddening ecstasy?_ The question both teased and terrified her, but there was still enough presence of mind to know what had to be done before she could further explore it. One way or another, she had to get out a call and let the captain know she was still at least marginally alive. After taking a deep drink of water, she went to the broken bathroom door and peeked out. The attunement lamp guttered away in a near darkness that seemed to mirror Spock's mind. Nothing moved in the shadows. Working up her courage, she tiptoed out to bed area and pressed the intercom button.

"Fielding here," she spoke just above a whisper. Her body tensed, expecting Spock to come lunging out of some dim corner, expecting more punishment, more pain.

 _"Lauren?"_ Jim's voice, just as low. "Are you alright? I was about ready to—"

She swiftly shut down the speaker, heart pounding, and glanced beyond the alcove into the silent cabin. _Where was he? What was he up to?_ Leaning close to the intercom, she said, "I'm okay, Captain. Out."

So much for that obligation. Little tendrils of fear licked through her as she left the alcove and quietly prowled the quarters watching for Spock. She found him sleeping soundly on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. It angered her to think of the selfish, brutal ways in which he had worn himself out. _And now he expected to rest?_

Her fury erupting, she yanked off his blanket and attacked him with her fingernails and fists. He reared up, impossibly alert, and pulled her down beside him. He drew a hand over the claw marks on his side and it came away green with blood. The hand lashed out and grasped her jaw so hard that she winced. Pushing her chin up, he forced her to meet his eyes—Vulcan flame flickering in Vulcan shadow.

"How…dare…you," he seethed.

Lauren countered, "You hateful, overbearing—!"

He was on her in an instant. Though she struggled and cried out, there was no escaping and she was no longer sure that she wanted to escape. She belonged to him. He would dominate her with his superior strength, he would do whatever he pleased—and if in that very domination she found some pleasure of her own, then perhaps that was the nature of pon farr. For a long while she knew nothing else.

oooo

"…this is the captain speaking. Acknowledge." "Doctor Fielding, Spock, acknowledge…"

The repeating voice roused Spock from a deep, dreamless sleep. He felt hot, dull-headed, and extremely annoyed to have been awakened. Reaching out, he switched the bed light on to its lowest level.

"Doctor Fielding, this is Captain Kirk. If you can hear me, acknowledge."

Spock turned his head and saw Lauren sleeping beside him, the smooth skin of her body glistening from the room's heat. Feeling a sharp, possessive jealousy, he touched her, but she did not move.

"Doctor, unless you answer—"

Spock flung his hand at the bedside intercom. "Yes! What do you want?"

A startled pause. "…Spock?"

"Yes," Spock repeated tiredly. "What the _hell_ do you want?"

Another pause. Then, "Put Lauren on."

Spock looked at his bed companion. The jealousy intensified. "No. She is asleep."

"Lauren's asleep?"

Spock disliked the captain's familiarity. "Yes— _Doctor Fielding_ is sleeping. We _both_ were."

The silence stretched for a long moment as Kirk considered whether or not to accept Spock's statement. "Sorry," he said at last. "Have her check in when she wakes up."

Spock bashed the intercom with his fist. The physical pain drew him a little closer to normalcy. He adjusted the temperature control downward and cooler air rushed into the compartment. Lying back, he nursed his aching hand and tried to evaluate his overall condition. The fact that he could consider it at all was a hopeful sign. He had no clear memory of the past 72 hours. Judging by the state of Lauren's body and his own, their encounters had been violent. Even now he still wanted her, but it was no longer a suffocating urge. It would not drive him to take anything beyond what she was willing to give.

He watched her as she slept, the disheveled waves of her golden hair spread over her pillow. She stirred, turning her face toward him, and he saw bruises on her face and evidence of dried blood in one nostril. _Had he done that?_ With a stab of regret, he gently fingered her hand where it lay near his. She awakened and looked at him without fear. From some dim corner of his mind came a need to stroke her palm, and the tentative contact brought new, enticing sensations. Lauren's eyes encouraged him. For the first time since pon farr's onset, he attempted to meld with her and that enjoyable success led, yet again, to pleasures of another sort.

oooo

Had more hours passed? Or had it been days? Not that it mattered, not that anything mattered but this roiling ocean about to cast them upon the shore. The end of pon farr was drawing near. Spock and Lauren knew this as well as they knew anything, yet they were not…quite…ready for it to end. For a time they lay side by side on the bed, alone with their own thoughts. Finally Lauren rolled toward him. Resting her head on his shoulder, she let her fingers drift over his chest in a slow, soothing caress.

"It's almost gone," she said, "isn't it? I'm even starting to get hungry."

Though Spock had not yet regained full mental control, he could feel himself being drawn back to the familiar confines of Vulcan discipline. And he also noticed a need for food. "Yes," he responded with some sadness, for he had discovered that pon farr was not without its rewards. "It is ironic. All my life I had hoped to be spared this particular rite of Vulcan passage…yet now I understand why some call it the 'Rapture'."

Lauren stretched and made a contented sound in her throat. "I was afraid at first, and angry. But then later…when I started to feel what you were feeling…and then, when you began to use your mind…well, _you_ know."

Yes. He did know. Spock found it strange to lie there and attempt to analyze what had been an entirely visceral and emotional experience. Rising up on an elbow, he tenderly touched his wife's face and gazed into the clear blue eyes that had guided him like a life-saving beacon through the trackless hours of turmoil and ecstasy. She had freely come to him when he needed her, enduring the pain, embracing the pleasure. It had not mattered that he was half human, and she fully so. The bond between them was a solid force that would bind them together always.

Stroking her hair, he said, "I love you."

Tears filled her eyes. Rising up, she kissed him and clung to him with such passion that he found himself wanting her all over again. Somewhere in the midst of their lovemaking he heard the tinny rasp of the broken intercom speaker, but he was not inclined to respond and neither was Lauren.

Afterward they went into the shower. They were drying off and discussing food when Spock noticed sounds in the cabin. He quickly wrapped himself in his towel and motioned to Lauren, but she was already covering up.

"Spock?" It was McCoy's voice. "Laurie?"

Spock went to the doorway and looked out. The cabin lights were on. Captain Kirk and the doctor turned from their inspection of the sleeping alcove and stared at him, at his wet hair, at the towel wrapped around his waist. Angered by the violation of his territory, Spock suppressed a sudden, sharp urge to throw his captain and the chief medical officer bodily from the cabin.

Eyeing him warily, the men stepped a little closer. McCoy pulled out a medscanner and waved it in Spock's general direction.

"Where's Lauren?" Kirk asked.

"My wife," Spock said, "is here behind me." He felt Lauren touch his back, but deliberately stayed in the doorway, preventing her from leaving the bathroom. He could not tolerate the idea of these men seeing her clad only in a towel.

"It's alright!" Lauren called out. "I'm here, I'm fine!"

McCoy pocketed his scanner. "Your readings seem fairly good, Spock, but I'd like to take a look at Laurie."

Spock found that he did not like McCoy calling his wife "Laurie", but there was enough logic in him to recognize that his protective instinct, like all his emotional and physical responses, was exaggerated from hormonal effects. Even so, he could not bring himself to step aside.

"Get her a robe," he said, pointing. "There, in the closet."

Spock and Kirk observed one another while McCoy fetched a bathrobe. Once Lauren was properly covered, Spock allowed her to come out. McCoy immediately drew out his medscanner and stepped toward her, but Spock slapped it from his grip. The startled doctor grimaced with pain and edged back, holding his hand.

"Spock," Kirk warned, "don't make me bring Security in here."

"I'm _fine,"_ Lauren insisted. "Can't you see that?"

McCoy's eyes narrowed at her. "Your face is bruised."

"So is your hand. As you can see, my husband is not yet himself. You'd better leave."

Kirk and McCoy exchanged a wary look. Less than satisfied, the two men picked their way back to the cabin door. There, Kirk stopped and told Lauren, "Keep in contact. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain," she responded.

It was with mixed feelings that Lauren watched the door slide shut and lock her back into the cabin with Spock. His behavior had embarrassed her. He was not yet ready to face the wider world of the Enterprise, but she was beginning to experience its pull. Suddenly her mind cried out for the intellectual stimulation of her work, her friends. The first officer's quarters seemed disorderly and confining.

Spock stood in his towel watching her with a vaguely annoyed expression as she began picking up the cabin. At last he said, "I most certainly _am_ myself."

Lauren paused and shook her head. "Spock, that's only an expression. It means you're not behaving _like_ yourself. Let's face it, you didn't need to hurt Doctor McCoy. He was only concerned about me. He was only trying to do his job."

"He was invading your privacy."

"My privacy—or yours? Spock," she said with her own share of annoyance, "I had no objection to him looking me over. You know, I _do_ have a life of my own. I'm not a piece of property."

Spock's eyes flared with swift anger. _"Looking you over?_ Perhaps you would have preferred going without the cover of a robe—or even a towel."

"Oh come on," she blurted, "you're acting like a—" Stopping short, she pressed her fingers to her temples and struggled to get a grip on her churning emotions. She began over. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lose patience."

But she could see that he was not in the mood for apologies. _What was happening?_ A few minutes ago he had actually used the word 'love'. Now he approached her with a coldness that sent a chill straight to the center of her heart.

"I am not," he said with slow emphasis, "a child who requires your patience."

"I know," she breathed, "I know."

Stepping closer, he stroked her neck almost gently. But then he seized the juncture of her shoulder with a firmness that bordered on pain. "I do not want anyone to see you, but me," he declared. "I do not want anyone else to touch you."

Dizzied by the pressure on her shoulder, she attempted to pull away. His fingers squeezed harder and she gasped, "That hurts! Let go of me!"

He held her tight. As she struggled, he brought his right hand to her face and gripped the meld points. Something of his anger brushed her mind and she began to panic.

All at once he shoved her away.

"There," he said bitterly, "is that better?"

Trembling, she rushed into the bed area and threw on her uniform. Spock followed her like a silent, menacing shadow. As she headed for the cabin door, he finally spoke.

"Where do you think you are going?"

"Away from here," she told him. "Away from you."

As she fought the lock code on the door pad, he drew frighteningly close. His eyes narrowed to dark slits, his bare chest heaved. "You are staying here with me. _This_ is where you belong."

Desperate to escape, she continued fumbling with the pad. His hands latched on, and turning her around, held her captive against the door. The merciless look in his eyes pierced her like a sword.

"Spock, don't do this," she pleaded.

His grip cinched tighter. "Spock? Who is he? I am no longer myself—remember?"

She sensed a great darkness closing in on her and shut her eyes against it. Hot tears squeezed from beneath her lids and ran down her face. "Don't," she begged. "For God's sake, not now—not like _this."_

She had forgotten. For him, there was no God.

His muscles tightened. Instinctively she cringed and he hurled her to the floor. Hurting, she crawled away, one arm raised, as if that futile gesture could fend off what was coming. "No!" she cried. "Stop it!"

But then he came for her with all the savage fury of Vulcan and her world collapsed.

oooo

Finished, Spock retreated to the sleeping alcove. He was sitting by himself when he heard the cabin door working and knew she had managed the lock. _She was gone._ A quaking started deep inside him and he hunched over, sickened by the turn of his thoughts.

 _Madness?_ Oh, how he longed for that simple excuse, but he could not fool Lauren any more than he could fool himself. It was not madness that had driven him to defile her body and her mind—not madness, but selfish rage. He had not _wanted_ to control himself—he had wanted only to control _her_ , and so had violated their bond in the crudest manner possible.

The trembling crept up his back, into his shoulders, and he felt the black, icy beginnings of despair. He had hurt her. He had betrayed her. The cruelty of his assault had sent her away, and in his heart he knew she would never come back.

oooo

Lauren hugged to herself the tattered remnants of her uniform as she roamed the night-dimmed corridor of the officer's section. The hour must have been late. She was grateful no one saw her or the tears flowing freely down her face. Wiping at her eyes, she hesitated at Doctor McCoy's door before moving on. She did not know what she was going to do. Only after she had moved out of officer's territory and reached Chief Rand's cabin, it became clear. This was where she wanted to be.

Janice opened the door, still half asleep, and went wide-eyed at the sight of her. "Laurie! What the—"

Lauren began to sob and Jan pulled her inside. The transporter chief sat her down on her bed and held her as she wept. "It's alright," Jan soothed, "it's alright now. Just tell me who did this and I'll—"

"Who do you _think?"_ Lauren broke in, all but choking on the anger and the shame.

When Jan gave her a blank look, Lauren realized just how deep a cloak of secrecy had been kept over Spock's condition. "I should never have married him," she said, her teeth chattering. "My brother was right. Even Spock's daughter, the little sweetheart— _she_ tried to warn me. God, how he had me fooled!"

Jan gasped in disbelief. _"Spock? Spock_ did this to you?"

Lauren nodded, too shaken to say more. She did not know if she would ever be able to talk about this dark hour and what it had revealed to her, what it had stolen away from her. She had thought she had seen every corner of Spock's mind. Well, she had been wrong.

Jan abruptly stood up. "I'm calling the captain."

"No!" Lauren said. "I don't want him in the middle of this. I don't want anyone to know. It's my own stupid fault—I'm the one who went to him."

"Laurie, what are you talking about?"

"It was his Time, Jan. The pon farr. I understood that, I could handle that, but not—" She broke down at the thought of how he had used her _in his right mind,_ how he had ignored her pleas and showed her who was lord and master of his Vulcan castle. Lauren steadied herself with anger. "I guess it's true, what they say about Vulcans and their women. But I'm not a Vulcan and I don't have to put up with it. As far as I'm concerned, he can take his Vulcan marriage and shove it up his Vulcan ass!"

oooo

Gradually Lauren settled into a gray state of numbness. She applied for and was assigned new quarters. On the first day Spock returned to duty, she went into his cabin with Janice and quickly gathered her belongings. The place had been scrubbed clean and repaired to Spock's usual flawless standard, like whitewash thrown over dirt. Something precious had been destroyed there, and she ached with grief for the love, the life, that had briefly been hers.

The following day she went back to work and found herself smack in the middle of the Enterprise rumor mill. A story leaked from official sources had declared Spock "sick", and told of her leaving work to care for him. There was no explanation given for their subsequent separation, and that very silence gave rise to many imaginative versions, some painfully close to the truth. Most of the stories cast her as the villain. Spock was highly respected by the crew; few would have believed the truth, even if it came out.

Lauren knew Doctor McCoy was deeply troubled by the breakup. It showed in the worry lines around his eyes, and the pained expression he wore whenever she was in the same room. He had not yet come out and asked her about it—he was too much of a southern gentleman for that—but eventually they would need to talk. She would tell him that it wasn't his fault, that he had done his best to warn her.

In a way, Christine Chapel was easier to deal with. Lauren met her cutting directness with a few sharp barbs of her own. She had expected the usual cold treatment from her sickbay nemesis and she had prepared herself for it. However, she was not prepared for the sight that awaited her as she left her lab and headed toward Doctor McCoy's office.

A command officer was entering sickbay from the main corridor, apparently with the same destination in mind. The officer was Spock.

Their eyes met and they came to an abrupt halt, some distance apart. They stood staring at one another while Lauren fought searing waves of humiliation and anger. _What unconscionable arrogance! How dare he not turn away?_

Her heart slamming, she strode past him, into McCoy's office. When she came out he was gone. She was about to move on when Chapel sidled up to her.

"I _heard_ there was trouble in paradise," Chapel murmured.

Lauren turned on her. "Do you want to see trouble? I'll show you trouble!"

Chapel looked amused. "So the little beach bunny has sprouted some claws. Better try digging them into that husband of yours before you lose him completely. I hear Vulcans _like_ it rough."

Lauren glared at her. "Well, isn't it a shame you'll never find out. They say Spock wouldn't even have _you_ with a side order of plomeek soup!"

Chapel's face went red. Her mouth opened, but for once no words came out.

Lauren's heart felt too leaden to declare it a victory. _Why was she fighting over someone she didn't want? What did it matter what Chapel said? It would serve her right if she actually got him—then she would find out who had the claws._ "Look," Lauren said, "my marriage to Spock is over. Finished. Go ahead if you want—go to him, give him your soup, given him your sympathy, give him any damn thing you want. And while you're at it—" She wrenched the wedding band from her finger and tossed it at the doctor's feet. "Give him that."

oooo

It was 2100 hours. Precisely. Spock had no need for a chronometer now that his inherent timesense had begun to function once again. He experienced the measured passage of each second with an awareness made excruciating by loneliness and remorse. Unmoving, he sat before the frozen screen of his computer monitor. The silence in his cabin was so complete that he could detect a slight electrical hum emanating from the unit.

For the second time since coming off shift, he called up the file containing Lauren's research into Vulcan plakir-fee. For the second time the same words appeared, instantly duplicated by the toneless computer voice. "ACCESS DENIED."

The pain this brought him was not reasonable. The research project was entirely hers—he had always known that. But Lauren had said otherwise; she had frequently told him how much she appreciated and valued his input. There had been times in their past when it seemed as if the plakir-fee study was their only point of connection. And now that, too, was gone.

His eyes traveled over the desktop and found the one item Lauren had overlooked when she cleared out her belongings. She must have been in a great hurry or she would never have left her flute behind. He could picture her rushing about the cabin, grabbing things, fearful lest he suddenly appear and…

 _And what?_ Did she think he would do it again? The fever was gone; the Vulcan beast securely chained back behind a rigid wall of self-discipline. He was most courteous in all his dealings. What was it that Lauren's mother had said at the wedding reception? _"Ah, such manners…"_ And being a foolish, ignorant child/man who had never experienced pon farr in all its rigor, he had assured Elizabeth Fielding that he would never willfully do anything to hurt her daughter. No, not him.

He had not known what the hell he was talking about.

It only seemed logical to blame the stresses of pon farr for his behavior and so, in some measure, excuse himself. But what of Ensign Weller? Reesa's young, spectral image rose up—fighting for her life, and losing, as the Symbiant pressured Spock to murder her at Mega Morbidus. Yes— _pressure._ It was undoubtedly a common link between the two events. Since childhood he had reacted violently under certain forms of pressure. It would seem that now, given the right circumstances, he even violated women.

Deeply disturbed by the thought, Spock removed Lauren's flute from its case, assembled it, and positioned his fingers over the delicate, silvery instrument. Raising it to his lips, he began a composition they had once played together.

The doorchime intruded.

Startled, Spock turned in his chair. Instinctively he felt along the bond to the black barrier of Lauren's resistance. _No, it was not her—_ yet he could not quite squelch the illogical hope—or the fear—that he might be wrong, that she really was about to come through the door and he would see her once more, as he had this morning in sickbay.

The chime rang out again, and this time he put down the flute and stood. "Enter."

The door opened to a glimpse of golden hair, but the visitor was not Lauren. It was Christine Chapel.

Concealing his surprise, he clasped his hands behind his back and said, "Doctor."

She had not been near his cabin for years, and she looked distinctly uncomfortable hovering in the doorway. "Mister Spock…may I come in?"

"Certainly," he said, out of courtesy rather than any desire for her company.

Chapel stepped inside and the door automatically closed behind her. Spock touched a control at his desk, adjusting the room's temperature to a level more suitable for humans.

Chapel glanced about nervously before her eyes came to rest on him. "Mister Spock, I'm afraid…I'm afraid this is very awkward." She sighed. "There are some rumors about you circulating aboard ship. Ugly rumors. I…I think you should be aware."

Spock kept his expression carefully impassive. "I am aware of the rumors. I do not find them any great cause for concern, and neither should you."

"I just thought—"

"I know, Doctor Chapel, and I do appreciate you taking the time to tell me. However, I am currently occupied…"

She did not move. "There's more," she said.

He waited.

Chapel took a deep breath. "First of all, I want to say that I've always considered you to be a friend—though you well know that…that I have hoped our friendship would grow into something more…"

 _Yes, he knew._ It was no secret that Chapel had feelings for him. Surely she would not see his marital problems as an opportunity to bring her affections out into the open again.

"I have to admit," she stumbled on, "to some envy when you married Doctor Fielding…and some hurt. I couldn't help noticing that I was excluded from the guest list. Whether that was your decision, or hers, I don't know and I won't ask. It doesn't matter now. I probably deserved it, the way I've treated Lauren ever since she joined the crew."

"Doctor," Spock broke in.

"Yes, Mister Spock, I know. Get to the point." Gathering herself, she raised one hand as if she were clutching something very small. "The point is, I never wished you any harm and this is the last thing in the world I'd want to do. So…I'm sorry, Mister Spock, that I have to be the one."

Her voice trailed off. Without looking at him, she approached the desk and set down a ring.

Spock stared at the plain gold band, remembering the moment he had first placed it on Lauren's finger. It was two days before their joining ceremony. Lauren had voiced a desire for a wedding ring, and they needed to be sure of the fit. He remembered the warmth and pleasure in her eyes as she modeled it—such a simple band, but exactly the kind she had wanted. She had then said that once they were bonded she would never take it off her finger again…

"I'm sorry," Chapel repeated, and began walking to the door.

Spock roused himself and said, "Doctor." She stopped and looked at him with tears in her eyes. He picked up the flute and returned it to its case. "If it is not too much of an imposition…would you mind giving Lauren this? She…forgot it."

"Of course," Chapel said softly. "If there's any way I can help…any way at all…"

She went out the door and Spock was alone before he realized he had not thanked her. Slowly he turned toward the desk and as his eyes settled on Lauren's ring, the crushing finality of the situation struck him to the core. _Lauren was truly gone…gone for all time._ Their bond alone remained, and unless a skilled Vulcan dissolved it he would carry her pain always, knowing he was the one who had hurt her, cruelly and deliberately, driving the light from her life and from his own.

Aching, he picked up the cold, lifeless band of gold and whispered his bondmate's name.


End file.
